Chapter Nineteen
Hogan went to the window in his quarters and closed the shutters so that no one – German or otherwise – could see inside. Tiger waited by the door until the shutters were secured, then crossed the small room to stand before him. She raised her hand and cupped his haggard cheek.
"Did you really think," she whispered, searching his eyes. "that I would stay away?"
"You should have." His voice was raspy, as if he'd been yelling for hours, or had smoked for days. At any other time, the sound would have thrilled her and set her blood racing. Today, the rough tone told her how very much he was hurting, while the look on his face told her he was preparing reasons to send her away. That was not going to happen – at least not until she was ready.
Her lips quirked in a sad smile and her head moved slowly side to side in response to his comment. "Non, mon amour. Never." She kissed his unresponsive lips, then went to his desk and sat, tucking her skirt beneath her with one casual sweep of her hand. His head turned to watch and he frowned, making no move to follow.
"You shouldn't have come. Hochstetter and his goons are working overtime right now, laying traps with false information."
She nodded. "Oui. I know this."
"You know this," he echoed, eyebrows raised. "And you still came?" He shook his head, suddenly angry. "Whatever you have to tell us isn't worth your life, Tiger. Not in my book. Next time just radio us, have Schnitzer deliver the information or find another way."
"I am in no greater danger today than any other day in this forsaken country," she argued softly. "And my reasons for coming had nothing to do with information. I wanted to see you and I intend to stay with you until tonight. Nothing you say will change my mind. DuBois is with my men and as you know, is more than capable of taking command." He started to say something, but she cut him off, adding, "If something happens that requires my attention, then he can reach me by radio."
"Maybe I'm not in the mood for visitors," he countered, well aware that he sounded more like a petulant child than a full-bird colonel.
A slight smile touched her lips. "You would throw me out?"
He leaned his head back with a quiet, drawn-out sigh, powerless in the face of her femininity and his love for her. He couldn't order her to leave him alone like he could his men. Nor could he be rude or even wield cutting words to drive her away.
Throw her out? Yeah, he could do that – about as easily as he could toss a newborn puppy out into the cold.
Woeful brown eyes and overlong ears flashed before him. He bowed his head and massaged his temple with his fingertips. The vision persisted, the lustrous brown eyes turning accusative. He clenched his eyes shut; ground his knuckles into his temple.
"Robert?"
Her worried voice startled him. His eyes flew open and he flinched, mortified that he'd forgotten she was there.
He gave her a tight smile. "Just a headache. I'm doing okay. Not ready to run any marathons yet, but the wounds are healing . . ." He dropped his gaze and turned away, speaking over his shoulder in a voice without inflection. "Don't worry. I'll get over what happened and go on, just like always. This wasn't the first time innocent lives have been lost due to my actions or decisions. We both know it's a sad but inevitable part of the job."
Tiger understood exactly about the emotional backlash that came with command. From the moment she had heard the news, she had sensed his suffering as deeply as if it were her own. She'd also known before she'd even laid eyes on him, that he was not sleeping well, if at all. Nightmares were to be expected considering what had happened that fateful night at the riverbed. She had her own, and most of the time, was able to keep them tightly contained deep within in the recesses of her mind. But sometimes they slipped out – usually after one of her men had died a particularly gruesome death, or after one of Hogan's close calls.
She stood and wrapped her arms about him from behind, resting her cheek against his back.
"Oui, mon coeur. We go on because we must. But this time is different. You have wounds that cannot be seen, that continue to bleed. This innocent was a child you had met and talked with. She had a face and name and a place in your heart."
His head tilted back, his gaze lifting to the ceiling again. She slowly rubbed her cheek against his shoulder blade in a purely comforting gesture. His pain was like a third entity in the room, hovering over them like a wrathful spirit.
Tiger pulled back slightly and unwrapping one arm from around him, reached up to stroke the hair at his nape. Silence spun out, filled with the trust and love between them. Tiger rested her cheek against him again, listening to the steady, strong beat of his heart. Her eyes drifted closed, a fine line of sadness on her brow, her fingers carding repeatedly through the thick, black hair.
He shuddered once, then twice, the motion transmitting through his body to hers. The gentleness of her touch was stripping his soul bare, leaving him more defenseless than any torture ever could. When he found his voice again, it was hoarse with pent-up emotion.
"She had her whole life ahead of her."
Tiger's eyes opened, tears caught in her lashes. "Fate cast her death, mon coeur."
He huffed a short, harsh breath. "So everyone keeps telling me."
"And we will continue to do so until you believe it." Tiger bit her lower lip. There was so much more she wanted to say, but she felt his body tightening, sensed him withdrawing and the walls going up again. Hiding away. Even from her.
She tugged him around to face her and reached for his good hand. Her throat tightened at the desolation in his eyes.
"You are having nightmares," she whispered, tracing a fingertip over the shadow beneath his right eye. He pulled away from the touch, forcing a smile.
"Sleep is highly overrated."
The first spark of temper sharpened her voice. "Do not try and . . ." she waved one hand through the air in a helpless gesture. "make light of this, as if it -- as if you – are unimportant. The nightmares will fade once you have made peace with yourself, mon amour. Once you have accepted your role in her death."
"My role?" He tore out of her grip, stumbled backward until he re-captured his balance. Pain flared in his shoulder and chest as the stitches pulled in the wound. "My role," he repeated raggedly, desperately trying to shove his traitorous emotions back into their box and slam the lid. They kept seesawing on him. Up. Down. Up. Down. A quiet but snide voice in his mind pointed out lack of sleep had a lot to do with that.
Her eyes, wide and sorrowful, held his fast. " 'All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts . . .'" her voice trailed off.
Hogan's expression hardened. "I played my part as executioner well, don't you think? Of course, I've had a lot of practice over the years. My instructors always did say I had a talent for hitting small, moving targets. Guess they were right, huh?"
She took a shuddering breath, her heart breaking for him. "Have you talked with anyone?"
"Talk," he snapped. "Everyone wants me to talk about it." He looked away, toward the window. But the shutters were closed and he couldn't see the sun. The tug to be outside, to be away from everyone and everything – even Tiger - was almost overpowering. He breathed deep, mentally straining for control of his rampant emotions.
Tears burned behind her eyes. She closed the distance between them again, needing to be near him. She prayed he would let her. "You already know why you should, mon amour." Her hand wrapped around his forearm, feeling the corded muscles draw even tighter. "How many times have you given that same advice to one of your men? I am here now. Talk to me."
He ignored her plea, his eyes still fixed upon the closed shutters, as if trying to see through them.
"If not with me, then with Sergeant Kinchloe or Doktor Metzger."
"I don't need to talk with anyone," he growled, trembling with fatigue.
"Please do not be angry with us for wanting to help." She could feel how close he was to collapse. Her fingers tingled from the fine tremor running through him. "You must rest."
With one flex and pull of his arm, he freed himself from her grip. Surprise and hurt flashed in her eyes, but his tone held firm.
"Later."
HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH
Klink took a ledger out of the center drawer of his desk and flipped it open. Taking out a pen, he noted Schnitzer's delivery and exchange of Langer for Heidi, right down to the hour of arrival. He paused, studied his notes, and made small checkmarks beside each bit of information as he confirmed their accuracy. He believed in being thorough, as he could fall back on the details for proof should Schnitzer try to overcharge for his services. The elderly dog handler had never tried to do so, but there was always a first time, and Klink had been the victim of too many swindlers in the past not to take precautions.
Satisfied with his records, Klink closed the ledger and opened the drawer. As he was replacing the ledger inside, several sheets of folded paper slipped out from the back and fell in graceful swoops to the floor. He rolled his chair back from the desk and picked them up, then rolled back to the desk. He started to simply return the pages to their place in the ledger, but changed his mind at the last moment and unfolded them upon the desk.
With some thought to one day writing his memoirs, Klink had the year before, started documenting memorable events as well as unusual incidents that occurred in Stalag 13. In looking back over his notes, he reluctantly concluded that many of the more unusual events simply couldn't be included. Most placed him in an unfavorable light, besides being quite unbelievable, despite his extreme care toward detail. Even he could hardly fathom some of the craziness that had happened, and he had witnessed much of it.
He shook his head with a sigh and started to fold the papers again. As he did, his gaze raked down the topmost paper. Several dates popped out at him and he went still, an icy ball forming in the pit of his belly.
He grabbed for the ledger and quickly flipped pages until he found the one he wanted. His eyes cut back and forth between the ledger and his journal notes, comparing dates. Time crawled by while he examined page after page in the ledger and journal.
By the time he was done, the ice in his belly had expanded to glacial proportions.
Klink fell back in his chair and stared blindly at the opposite wall.
"Coincidence," he murmured to the room. "Nothing but coincidence, surely."
On five separate occasions, the unscheduled arrival of Schnitzer's truck had either preceded or immediately followed some outlandish event or some sort of upheaval in the camp. And with each of those events, one man seemed to always be directly in the midst of the pandemonium.
Hogan.
"It means nothing," Klink scoffed under his breath. He glared at the open ledger then jerked forward in his seat, reached out and slammed it closed. "Hochstetter's paranoia is rubbing off on you!"
He jammed the folded papers into the very back of the ledger and shoved them into the desk drawer. Sitting back again, he glanced out the window and loosed a nervous chuckle.
"Oskar Schnitzer is an old man. A dog handler and nothing more. He is no more a Resistance fighter than Hogan is free to come and go as he pleases."
Klink jumped to his feet and went to the sideboard, where he grabbed up the decanter of schnapps. He poured a glass full to the top and quickly downed the alcohol in a single gulp. But the fiery liquid did nothing to dissipate the ball of ice. Abandoning the schnapps, he snatched up his riding crop and cap and fled the office. Fresh air would clear his mind of the ridiculous notion of a dog handling Resistance fighter acting in tandem with an American prisoner of war.
HH HH HH HH HH HH HH HH
Tiger glared at Hogan, her lips thinning in anger.
"Later? Why not now? Sergeant Kinchloe and the others are in the next room. They will warn us if anyone approaches." She closed the distance between them in several quick strides and grabbed his hand. Their eyes locked, hers daring him to look away.
"You cannot avoid sleep forever, mon amour."
His nostrils flared on a quick breath and he swallowed, the sound quite audible to both of them. Tiger moved closer and leaned against him, intending to comfort. To her alarm, she felt him sway on his feet.
"Robert--"
A soft knock rattled the door. Their heads jerked toward it, Tiger glimpsing him grab the bunk's post to steady himself. Seconds ticked by, then the door eased open and Kinch edged inside, his nod and thin smile apologetic.
"Sorry to interrupt, Colonel. Ma'am. But Klink is on the prowl."
"Wonderful," Hogan muttered, knuckles going white on the bunk post. "Where is he now?"
"Olsen?" Kinch called over his shoulder into the common room
"He's talking with Schultz by the well." Olsen pressed one eye to the narrow opening, suddenly thrust his hand out, toward Hogan's quarters. "Wait! He's . . . he's walking back to his headquarters . . . no, he's stopped . . . he's just standing there . . . he's looking this way . . ." Olsen jerked away from the door, eyes wide with alarm. "He's coming this way!"
"Get out there and stall," Kinch ordered. Olsen shot outside and Newkirk took up his place at the door.
Hogan strode out of his quarters, Tiger in tow. Carter slapped at the hidden lever and the bunk entrance yawed open, the ladder descending and settling into place. Hogan helped Tiger climb over the bunk frame and onto the wood slats.
"We'll let you know when it's safe."
Newkirk jerked back from the barracks door and closed it. "Incoming Kraut in ten seconds." He rushed back to the common room table and pulled out his deck of cards.
Hogan looked into the tunnel, confirmed Tiger had gotten down safely, then closed the entrance and turned toward the room. The barracks door opened and Klink walked in, Olsen tagging along behind.
Hogan considered taking a seat at the table. Even with the adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream, his weakened body was threatening revolt.
As if sensing he might need help, Kinch circled the table and stopped a few feet away. Hogan shot a sidelong glance his way, then greeted Klink with a smile and indicated the men seated at the table.
"We were just about to start a game of 'Fish', Kommandant. Care to join us?"
"Pull up a bench, Kommandant," Newkirk offered, deftly doling out cards to LeBeau and Carter. "Plenty of room for one more."
Klink glanced at the table, looking awkward and uncertain. Turning away, he slowly walked about the room, hands tucked at his back, glancing from side to side. He paused every so often, then continued on his way, his wandering seemingly without purpose.
"Is there something we can do for you, Kommandant?" Hogan prodded, hoping to hurry the visit along. A wave of dizziness hit without warning, causing him to list to one side. Kinch was suddenly beside him, his shoulder pressing into Hogan's, bracing him up. Hogan took a deep breath, centered his weight and found his balance again. Kinch eased back, but didn't go far.
Klink paused beside Paxton's bunk, then pivoted to face Hogan, his words coming out in a rush. "New mattresses --" He cut himself off, as if shocked by his own words.
"Red Cross inspection coming up, sir?" Hogan fought back another surge of dizziness. Kinch, like a large, silent sentinel, edged close again.
"The mattresses are thin and need to be replaced." Klink's tone was as stiff as his posture.
" 'Thin' is a bit on the generous side," O'Malley said under his breath, eyeing the pallet on his bunk with distaste.
Newkirk glanced up from arranging his cards. "Long as you're kicking in with new mattresses, how about new pillows as well, then? Ones that don't feel like they're stuffed with gravel?"
"Blankets without holes would be great." Carter turned to LeBeau. "Got any jacks?"
An impish twinkle lit Olsen's eyes. "Towels for the showers?"
"Some thick socks would be nice," Paxton added, turning a bland look on Klink. "These floors are freezing at night."
LeBeau grudgingly tossed a card on the table. Carter snatched it up and gave Newkirk a sly grin.
"Kings?"
"Go fish!" Newkirk crowed, triumphant.
"Bread that does not taste like boards would be even nicer," LeBeau grumbled, rearranging his cards. "Along with vegetables that don't taste like a root cellar."
Klink turned to Hogan, disgust dripping from his tone. "This," he huffed, throwing his arms wide. "Is why I don't replace things more often. Someone always tries to take advantage of my generous nature."
Hogan did his best to look contrite. "Sorry, sir."
Klink moved to leave, but stopped and stared at Hogan for several long, intense moments.
"Are you feeling better, Hogan?"
"Yes, sir," Hogan answered, pointedly ignoring Kinch's sidelong glance and O'Malley's arch look.
Klink nodded once. "Good." Without another word, he continued his walk out of the barracks. Olsen cat-footed it back to the door and peeked outside. After several minutes, he confirmed that Klink was back in his headquarters and all was clear. LeBeau jumped up from the table and went to the entrance to let Tiger know it was safe to return.
Hogan's breath left him in a long, drawn-out sigh, his shoulders sagging. "You do a great impression of a crutch, Kinch."
Kinch somberly met his eyes. "How about I do it for you all the way back to your quarters, sir?"
Hogan flicked a glance towards the other room, weighing his chances of making it on his own.
"All is well, now?"
Kinch and Hogan turned. Tiger stood by the table with LeBeau, hands clasped before her. She glanced between them, brow furrowing.
"That was Klink, was it not?"
Hogan nodded, and shot another glance toward his quarters. "That it was."
Braveheart's face darkened with a frown. "He seemed stranger than usual."
Paxton snorted. "How could you tell?"
"He'd been drinking," Olsen said, glancing away from the door. "I smelled it on him."
"Well, then," O'Malley said, briskly rubbing his hands together as he turned a smile on Hogan. "That explains it. Now what say --"
Hogan swayed with another bout of dizziness. Kinch quickly clutched his arm, holding him up.
O'Malley sped across the room. "Colonel or no, it's high time you're off your feet."
Before Hogan knew it he was back in his quarters and sitting on his bunk looking up at Tiger, Kinch and O'Malley.
"Just lie back and rest, sir," O'Malley said, giving him a caring smile. He and Kinch turned to leave, Kinch pausing on the threshold long enough to say with casual ease: "Lunch isn't for three hours."
Hogan rolled his eyes, then turned his head toward Tiger. He looked at her and she looked back. Once they were alone, she sat down beside him, took his hand and laced their fingers together. Her eyes crinkled with amusement.
"It is usually not so difficult to get you into bed."
Thank you for reading. To be continued.